I raise the gun.
“No!”
Bang.
The shot echoes through the expanse of the warehouse like thunder. The echo fades into the rafters and dies.
Bogdan exhales, calm as ever. “You want him buried or burned?”
“Your choice. Just make him disappear.”
“Understood.”
My heartbeat’s steady, but rage still hums under it, the kind that doesn’t leave for a long time. Blood blooms on the floor from the exit wound.
“Peter sent a message,” I say.
Bogdan arches a brow. “You want to escalate?”
“No, I want him to wonder if I will.”
I slip my gun back into my waistband. Calm is restored; the mask refastened.
Outside, the air’s sharp, a gentle drizzle now falling.
Violence doesn’t shake me. It never has. But tonight is different. The line between business and personal has been snapped clean in two. I killed a man tonight, not for fun, not for control, not even for the message. I killed him because he scared her. It was dangerously human. Not like me.
Bogdan emerges from the warehouse garage. I glance over his shoulder to see the body wrapped up tightly in a blue tarp. Looks like any other trash.
“Peter will come at us harder next time,” he says.
I take one more drag and then flick the cigarette into the nearest puddle. It extinguishes with a softhiss.
“Then I’ll be ready for him.” I turn my attention to the city gleaming on the horizon. “Come on. Time to get back.”
Moments later, we’re driving back in silence. The Chicago skyline slowly rises in the distance.
“We tell her?” he asks.
I know what he means. She’s not ready for it.
“Not yet.”
“Not to speak out of turn here,” he says, “but she’s going to find out eventually. The longer she stays in this world, the more certain it is she learns the truth.”
He’s right.
“Not yet,” I repeat.
Bogdan nods once, and that’s the end of the conversation.
I lean back, my thoughts on the woman I can’t afford to lose and the future she’s carrying.
CHAPTER 23
SASHA
The air inside the casino is too warm, heavy with perfume and desperation. Bogdan and I move through the crowd like wolves—suits sharp, eyes sharper. Heads turn away, as if people can sense something without knowing what it is.
